


Taking It Further

by ephemeryon



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1368133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeryon/pseuds/ephemeryon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What should've happened in City of Fallen Angels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking It Further

**Author's Note:**

> My first hetero fic! Also, sorry the excerpt from Cassandra Clare is longer than the fic, but a large part of the sexytimes had already happened and I'm a short writer, sooo. (Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the first section)

“I didn’t know,” he said. “I didn’t know you needed me.” 

Her voice shook. “I always need you.” 

He bent his head and kissed the burn on her wrist. A flare of heat coursed through her, like a hot spike that went from her wrist to the pit of her stomach. “I didn’t realize,” he said. He kissed the next burn, on her forearm, and the next, moving up her arm to her shoulder, the pressure of his body bearing her back until she was lying against the pillows, looking up at him. He propped himself on his elbows so as not to crush her with his weight and looked down at her.

His eyes always darkened when they kissed, as if desire changed their color in some fundamental way. He touched the white star mark on her shoulder, the one they both had, that marked them as the children of those who had contact with angels. “I know I’ve been acting strange lately,” he said. “But it’s not you. I love you. That never changes.”

“Then what--?”

“I think everything that happened in Idris—Valentine, Max, Hodge, even Sebastian—I kept shoving it all down, trying to forget, but it’s catching up with me. I…I’ll get help. I’ll get better. I promise.”

“You promise.”

“I swear on the Angel.” He ducked his head down, kissed her cheek. “The hell with that. I swear on _us_.” 

Clary wound her fingers into the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Why us?”

“Because there isn’t anything I believe in more.” He tilted his head to the side. “If we were to get married,” he began, and he must have felt her tense under him, because he smiled. “Don’t panic, I’m not proposing on the spot. I was just wondering what you knew about Shadowhunter weddings.”

“No rings,” Clary said, brushing her fingers across the back of his neck, where the skin was soft. “Just runes.” 

“One here, he said, gently touching her arm, where the scar was, with a fingertip. “And another here.” He slid his fingertip up her arm, across her collarbone, and down until it rested over her racing heart. “The ritual is taken from the Song of Solomon. _‘Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death_.’”

“Ours is stronger than that,” Clary whispered, remembering how she had brought him back. And this time, when his eyes darkened, she reached up and drew him down to her mouth.

They kissed for a long time, until most of the light had bled out of the room and they were just shadows. Jace didn’t move his hands or try to touch her, though, and she sensed that he was waiting for permission.

She realized she would have to be the one to take it further, if she wanted to—and she did want to. He’d admitted something was wrong and that it had nothing to do with her. This was progress: positive progress. He ought to be rewarded, right? A little grin crooked at the edge of her mouth. Who was she kidding; she wanted more on her own behalf. Because he was Jace, because she loved him, because he was so gorgeous that sometimes she felt the need to poke him in the arm just to make sure he was real.

She did just that.

“Ow,” he said. “What was that for?” 

“Take your shirt off,” she whispered. She reached for the hem of it but he was already there, lifting it over her head and tossing it casually to the floor. He shook his hair out, and she almost expected the bright gold strands to scatter sparks in the darkness of the room.

“Sit up,” she said softly. Her heart was pounding. She didn’t usually take the lead in these sorts of situations, but he didn’t seem to mind. He sat up slowly, pulling her with him, until they were both sitting among the welter of blankets. She crawled into his lap, straddling his hips. Now they were face-to-face. She heard him suck his breath in and he raised his hands, reaching for his shirt, but she pushed them back down again, gently, to his sides, and put her own hands on him instead. She watched her fingers slide over his chest and arms, the swell of his biceps where the black Marks twined, the star-shaped mark on his shoulder. She traced her index finger down the line between his pectoral muscles, across his flat washboard stomach. They were both breathing hard when she reached the buckle on his jeans, but he didn’t move, just looked at her with an expression that said: _Whatever you want._

Her heart thudding, she dropped her hands down to the hem of her own shirt and pulled it off over her head. She wished she’d worn a more exciting bra—this one was plain white cotton—but when she looked up again at Jace’s expression, the thought evaporated. His lips were parted, his eyes nearly black; she could see herself reflected in them and knew he didn’t care if her bra was white or black or neon green. All he was seeing was her. 

She reached for his hands, then, freeing them, and put them on her waist, as if to say, You can touch me now. He tilted his head up, her mouth came down over his, and they were kissing again, but it was fierce instead of languorous, a hot and fast-burning fire. His hands were feverish: in her hair, on her body, pulling her down so that she lay under him, and as their bare skin slid together she was acutely conscious that there really was nothing between them but his jeans and her bra and panties. She tangled her hands in his silky, disheveled hair, holding his head as he kissed down her throat. _How far are we going? What are we doing?_ a small part of her brain was asking, but the rest of her mind was screaming at that small part to shut up. She wanted to keep touching him, kissing him; she wanted him to hold her and know that he was real, here with her, and that he would never leave again.

His fingers found the clasp of her bra. She tensed. His eyes were large and luminous in the darkness, his smile slow. “Is this all right?” 

She nodded. Her breath was coming fast. No one in her entire life had seen her topless—no _boy_ , anyway. As if sensing her nervousness, he cupped her face gently with one hand, his lips teasing hers, brushing gently across them until her whole body felt as if it were shattering with tension. 

 

***

He found the clasp on her bra, undoing it too slowly. He slipped it off her shoulders and it dropped on the bed. He looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing on earth. Then he cupped her breasts in his hands and ran his thumbs along her nipples gently, making her shudder. Her heart was pounding too fast, and she was breathing too hard, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

He then pushed her into a seated position and took the place she had before, straddling her waist, and she could feel his erection through his jeans. At that moment, she hardly cared about the small voice in her head, or anything else except getting him inside her _now._ The wetness in her panties was too much without him inside her; she’d go insane if something didn’t happen. 

“Jace,” she said, as he put his mouth over her breast, sucking and biting the nipple. She forgot what she was supposed to say as her head fell back and she ran her hands along his back. He moved to the other one before going back to kissing her again with all the intensity of before, only now he was touching her breasts, her sides, her hips. 

“Jace,” she said again, to which he didn’t respond. She decided to just take matters into her own hands—which were shaking pretty badly—and grabbed his belt, undoing it. He looked slightly surprised, but appreciative, as she pushed down his pants. 

“Are—are you sure?” he said. He had a kind of pained expression like, _If you aren’t sure, I might just die right here._ She nodded, smiling a little. 

With that, he pushed down his boxers, and he was big—or he seemed that way to Clary, at least. Of course, she’d only ever seen dicks on the Internet, and not in real life, but still. It was kind of intimidating.

“Um,” she started nervously. Her heart was probably beating twice as fast as it normally did now. 

“It’s okay, I’ll go slow,” he promised, leaning down to kiss her slowly, his dick rubbing against her, making her ache with need. 

“Do you have--?” she started.

“Uh, yeah, right here,” he said, reaching for his bedside table and pulling open the drawer. She knew that it was better that they did have condoms, but it made her nervous, like he’d been doing this with other people too recently.

He must’ve seen it on her face, because he said, “Don’t worry, I knew this was going to happen.” 

She nodded, relieved, as he slid it on and pushed down her panties. He groaned when he saw how wet she was, sticking a couple fingers in and pushing back and forth. 

He slid in very slowly, biting his lip and furrowing his brow. He was definitely big, but it hurt less than she expected. 

“I’m all the way in,” he whispered above her. “Can I move?” She nodded. 

He started moving in and out, his pelvis rubbing against her clit. It felt amazing, maybe just because she was doing it with an actual person and not herself, maybe better than anything she’d ever felt. 

“By the angel,” he said between thrusts. “You feel—so good. So fucking good, Clary.” 

She didn’t respond, because she was too busy being overwhelmed by how it all felt, him on top of her and inside her and everywhere, it seemed. She wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him closer, wanting him deeper. 

She could already feel her orgasm building, the familiar pull and need for whatever was happening to keep happening until she came. It only took a few more thrusts before she was coming, arching up and moaning into it, digging her nails into his back. 

That seemed to turn him on further and he moved faster inside her until he was soon coming too, gripping the sheets and shuddering. 

He pulled out, throwing the condom away in the small trashcan in his room, lying down beside her. He kissed her breast and pulled her closer to him so they were spooning. 

“I love you,” he whispered softly. 

“I love you, too,” she whispered back.


End file.
